


These Whispers Slip Through

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Jossed, M/M, Middle School, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3209141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The one thing I always wish for,</i><br/>is for you to be just a little happier."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. nulla.

**Author's Note:**

> Full title is _These Whispers Slip Through (As They Slowly Fade Away)_ , taken from Chocolatre's song "Arrow". This was written as my interpretation for Makoto and Haru's middle school years, before HS2 was announced. Naturally, everything here is jossed by canon and none of the HS2 characters makes an appearance. I'm sorry.

"Haru..."

Rin's voice trembles, a soft gasp under the thundering tracks. Haruka sees his eyes widen, a millisecond before the train passes. His stomach churns, his throat tightens. Rin looks _scared._

And that should've been his first warning.

"You could have called," Haruka mutters.

Eyes downcast, fingers tight around the strap of his bag, Rin seems subdued, withdrawn, not at all boisterous as Haruka remembers him to be. It claws at him.

But he couldn't find it in himself to ask.

"Hey, Haru." Rin smiles, and Haruka wants to run. He doesn't really know why, but the tug of his lips, the way his eyes crinkle, sends a shiver down his spine.

 _Maybe if he doesn't_ ―

 _Maybe if he_ ―

 _Maybe_ ―

The moment Rin opens his eyes, Haruka thinks his breathing might have stopped.

"Let's swim together again. To see who's faster."

 

――――

 

He sees the first drop roll down his cheeks.

He sees the way he tries to hold them back.

He hears a sniff, a sob.

He hears the sharp clack of goggles against tile, the harsh thudding of their foot steps.

"I quit."

He feels his heart break.

"I'm done with swimming."


	2. nulla.

"Geez, Haru, you're so mean, leaving me like that!" He hears Makoto's voice, his footsteps coming closer and the slight screech as he pulls his chair. "I thought I was so late! When I came outside you weren't there and―"

"...Haru?"

_Ah._

"Is something wrong?"

"We never promised to go together."

 _He should_ ―

"That's true, but..."

Haruka flicks his eyes up a little and finds Makoto's reflection on the window. His eyebrows creased and he's pouting. When Haruka doesn't move, his eyes widens a little ― realisation, Makoto's always quick to know when something's wrong ― before the lines of his face settles into worry.

He wonders if it says something about him, when lately, all his friends looked at him like he's something to be afraid of.

_It's his fault._

_He should say something._

"Just tell me when you're ready."

_Makoto deserves more than this._

"Mum packed me some extra gyoza, I'll let you have some later."

 _I'm sorry_ , he wants to say. He doesn't. It's probably not what he's supposed to apologise for.

The classroom door slides open and Satou-sensei tells everyone to take their seats. Haruka barely registers the thrum of footsteps and clattering desks. Loud, buzzing white noise drifting further and further away as he closes his eyes.

He only hears Makoto walking away right before sleep overtakes him. The last thing he hears, Satou-sensei's shout of _'Tachibana-kun'_ , followed by a small _'Yes, sir.'_

 

――――

 

Haruka wakes up some time between History and English, Nomiyama-sensei's violent door slamming an obvious telltale. He must've shifted in his sleep, opening his eyes expecting to see the sky, but instead finding Ikeda pointing at him and lifting his shoulders in question. Makoto closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Ah..." Ikeda says, turning to look at him. Their eyes meet and Ikeda jolts a little. "Oh, Nanase, you're awake."

Haruka ignores him and looks away.

"I'm sorry," Makoto says.

"Nah, man. I'll help cover for him."

"Thanks, Ikeda-kun."

 

――――

 

_"An object falling freely under the force of gravity has a constant acceleration of about 10ms_ _-2_ _..."_

Makoto keeps looking at him, the _scritch scritch_ of his pencil stopping every once in a while. Sometimes long, drawn out, others quick restless glances as he tries to take notes ( _he's writing them for him, too_ ). Haruka doesn't need to look, he can practically see ― _feel_ ―the way Makoto fidgets in his seat. Green eyes behind thick black frames flitting between him and the blackboard.

_"...is based on the assumption that the effect of air resistance is so small that..."_

He wants to go back to sleep. Near impossible with Achiwa-sensei teaching.

A sigh leaves his lips.

_"...you can use the formulae in Section 1.5 to calculate the time..."_

The clocks ticks, slow, rhythmic. In the distant land of the gym building, Satou-sensei barks at the third years, his voice rings loud and clear, only slightly muffled by the glass. Haruka shifts his gaze from the empty school grounds to the clouds. He squints, the sun glaring at him.

_"...the speed after falling a certain distance, and so on..."_

He eyes the clock above the black board, five minutes until lunch break, then only two more periods before he can go home.

 

――――

 

He finds more gyoza on his rice than in Makoto's bento.

No words between them as Haruka continues to poke at his rice.

 

***

 

Haruka wonders how he looks right now, for Makoto to make that kind of face. Through soft black lines, behind stray strands of his hair that covers his face, he sees Makoto's hand clutching at his chest. He hunches his shoulders, curling into himself.

 _He's scared_.

_Of what?_

"Aren't you coming to swim club practice,?" he asks.

Haruka doesn't reply. He turns away, burying his face in his arms.

"Then, are you going to go home?"

It isn't what Makoto wanted to ask, Haruka knows. Even without having to look at him, Haruka knows.

Makoto would have a sad smile on his face. Always patient, even when he doesn't have to be. Even when his hands trembles at his sides, when his fingers worries the hem of his gakuran.

‘ _What's wrong? Why won't you talk to me?’_

Makoto's thoughts carries through, and he could imagine how it must've hurt: chest heavy, his heart beating loud.

"You don't have to wait for me." It surprises him, what he says. "I won't go, either."

Haruka turns to look ― really _look_ at his best friend. Heart in his throat, he finds Makoto's eyes crinkle in a smile.

"I'll stay with Haru-chan."


	3. ii.

Makoto hasn't seen an empty stairway in the morning for years. Shadows cast by the torii falls on lonely stone steps instead of caressing dark hair and pale cheeks.

He isn't late this time, he's sure, having checked the clock before he went out.

Still, he waits, hoping ( _really, really hopes_ ) Haruka would be late and that he'll come out of his house in a few minutes, bag slung over his shoulder, a short nod in a silent greeting.

He waits, and he's definitely late _now_ , because Haruka is never late.

Makoto starts trudging down the stairs.

 

――――

 

Ikeda waves at him as Makoto goes through the class door. "Good morning, Tachibana!"

"Good morning, Ikeda-kun," he says, setting his bag down.

When Makoto sits down, Ikeda slides his arms across his desk. Cheek pressed against an arm, he mumbles into the sleeve of his gakuran. "Nanase not with you today?"

"Ah." _It was only a matter of time until people asked._ "I think he's still sick?"

_He doesn't know either._

"I'll check on him tomorrow." Makoto tries to smile, but the pull of his lips hurts more than he thought it would.

_A part of him thinks he's better off not knowing._

Haruka had always been taciturn, but Makoto had always been able to read him. It's scares him, looking into those blue eyes and nothing comes to. It scares him, _how Haruka won't even look at him._

He doesn't want to look at Haruka's face and see someone he doesn't know, _someone he can't reach._

"Tachibana-kun?"

"Huh?" Makoto jolts, whips his head away from the window to the blackboard. Satou-sensei looks at him, concerned.

"It's not like you," he says. "Spacing out is usually more of Nanase-kun's thing."

Makoto squeezes his forearm. "I'm sorry, sir."

He drowns out what Satou-sensei says next, he drowns out the whole lesson, the whole day.

The window shows him a view of the sky. Blue, hazy streaks of white. A bird passes by. A sight that Haru sees every day, and Makoto has a good guess on why he likes it so much.

He feels like he could float, _fall_ , a gentle descend.    His hand stretches out above him, and all he sees, around him, enveloping him, a sweet, delicate blue.

_Free._

 

***

 

"Haru?" Makoto slides the bathroom door open. "Ah－" The way it rattles as it slides across the track loud in his ears, the thump of wood against wood accompanies the drop of his heart.

"We're... going to be late...?" He never had to be unsure with Haruka, words slips effortlessly as he breathes, the air between them light. But now, with Haruka not looking at him, he feels the strange need to tiptoe. Not pressing Haruka isn't foreign, but it was never like this－hesitance replacing quiet understanding.

The metre distance feels like a ridge, distorted, stretching across the horizon. Makoto struggles to remember a time when Haruka felt so _far._

"Haru...?" Maybe he shouldn't have taken those three steps forward. Maybe he shouldn't kneel next to the tub, next to Haruka.

Maybe he should draw his hand back, frozen between them, not quite touching.

"Makoto."

The way he says it, perhaps Haruka didn't want to say it at all. He doesn't turn, doesn't move, arms wrapped around his knees. Makoto isn't ready for his, would never be ready for this. He doesn't know what to do, when all he hears is

how broken his name sounds.

Makoto smiles. "Alright, alright. Just for today, okay?"

He tries not to count every drop of water that falls from the facet and into the tub, every drip reverberating against the tiled walls.

 

――――

 

"We should probably go to school today, Haru."

The wooden door of Haru's bathroom might as well be the only thing he sees nowadays.

 

――――

 

He doesn't know what to expect.

He really should get used to seeing this.

Makoto steps onto the shrine stairs. Where Haru should have been ― on top of those stone steps, looking out into the horizon, soft rays bathing him in light ― he finds, in its place, _cold, grey._

_Empty._

A gust of wind blows, and Makoto stays still, fingers loosely wrapped around the straps of his backpack. He takes in the sight and breathes in. The sharp inhale of cold air reminds him that he needs to be strong, for the both of them.

He strengthens his hold, fingers curling around the thick cloth. His legs take him one step at the time, up to the house by the shrine.

 

――――

 

_... 34... 35..._

Makoto finds himself sitting on Haruka's bathroom floor today, too. Facing away form him, his back against the tub. By his feet, orange bleeds into blue where afternoon sun shines through the window, and onto the tiles. He runs his fingers across the light, watching the shadows he cast flitter across the tiles.

_36... 37... 38..._

Haruka hasn't said anything, the only noise Makoto hears the careful splash of water whenever Haruka shifts. He doesn't move that much, either.

_39..._

_How long are they going to keep this up?_

_... 41..._

A quiet splash of water against the tub, Haruka must've lowered his head deeper into the bath.

_..._

He looks at his shadow on the bathroom door, just the top of his head, barely visible over a rectangular strip of light. It disappears when he slumps.

The sigh he lets out the only thing that escaped lips.

_..._

The water must already be way too cold.

"Haru―"

"Hey." Makoto doesn't look at him. Haruka's voice  almost inaudible, there's a chance that it isn't meant for him to hear.

"What if I woke up, and you suddenly changed into someone I don't know?"

Makoto wishes that he's only imagining things. That Haruka's voice wasn't so weak, so _scared._ He wishes that he didn't hear what Haruka just said.

He can't look at him now, not when he knows that his eyes are red.

"I'm going to go home now, Haru," he says.

The air suddenly light, with a short sob he chokes out a breath. Makoto stands in the hallway of Haru's house, his knees on the verge of giving out. His feet blurs, edges melding with browns of the wooden floor.

He looks up. It's hard to see. Distorted lights, iridescence around the edges.

_What if you've already changed into someone I don't know?_

 


	4. iii.

"Nanase! Tachibana!" Ikeda doesn't treat them any differently, to Makoto's relief. He can see he's trying to help. "How about we go somewhere― Nanase?"

Makoto shoots Ikeda an apologetic smile before following Haruka out the door. A careful look behind his shoulder, and Ikeda waves him off, _it's okay_. _Thanks,_ he says with his eyes. With a small nod, he breaks into a run down the hall.

 

――――

 

"Ah, Haru," he breathes out. "Should we go home together?"

Haruka doesn't reply, but stays where he is.

Makoto walks over to the lockers across Haruka's. Top row, third from the right, he opens the cubicle. He doesn't drop his shoes, puts them down gently and changes into them. A perfunctory tap of the outsole against the floor and he turns on his heel.

"Let's go?"

He follows Haruka out the doors, into the school grounds, pass the gates.

 

――――

 

Makoto shifts, falls a half-step behind Haruka. They don't fall into their usual rhythm ― he's tripping, stopping, an odd edge to his movements. Jerky, stilled, he wants to reach out, step closer next to Haruka.

But he can't find it in himself to, the cold distance between their shoulders increasing.

Haruka's drifting away, and he can't do much else.

He lags behind the rest of the way home. Haruka's back the only thing he lets himself see.

_It's suffocating._

 

――――

 

"I'm sure everything will be alright." He isn't sure if that was meant for Haru, or for himself.

"Yeah," Haruka murmurs. "Goodnight, Makoto."

Sometimes, Makoto wonders if it could change anything, if he had said it ― his feelings in a soft whisper. He never needed to before. But if Haruka knows that he isn't alone, that someone is always willing to offer a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on ― if Haruka could take comfort in how Makoto feels for him, then he'd inhale a heavy draw of air through his lips as he forms the words.

He almost says it, too. Fingers clutched tightly around the strap of his backpack, a shaky breath, and he stops himself. It's not what Haruka needs. It's not what _he_ needs.

"Goodnight, Haru," he says instead, watching Haruka walk up the stairs to his house.

 

***

 

Haruka tugs on his sleeve, when he turns towards the walkway to his house.

He steps closer, he doesn't look at him.

Makoto stays rooted in place, limbs in an awkward pause.

"Makoto," Haruka whispers.

He relaxes, turning his body fully to face his shorter friend. "Haru?"

Haruka opens his mouth, but closes it before he says anything.

"Please talk to me, Haru-chan." Makoto finally says it. He shakes Haru's hand away _(it falls so easily)_ and takes it in his, fingers interlacing.

In a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, Haruka leans his forehead on Makoto's chest. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't say anything else.

Makoto doesn't push.


	5. iv.

Makoto wonders if this was how he always smiled, wonders if the face he sees now is what everyone else sees, if it _hurts_ to look at him. He clutches his scarf a little tighter. It probably isn't why he has trouble breathing, but he loosens it anyway.

The reflection in the mirror lingers a look as he turns away, his hands slid from his neck to clutch at his shoulders. He doesn't want to see himself like this. _Haru doesn't need to see him like this._

He lets his hands drop, limp at his sides. He ignores the obtrusive black tugging at the edge of his vision when he smiles. It shifts, along with him as he picks his bag off the floor. It follows him,  before it disappears with him out the door.

Some time between arriving at the genkan and slipping on his shoes, he notes that his cheeks ache, just a little.

"I'm going now!"

He stops, frozen in the walkway. The door shuts with a click, a petal falls on his head.

All around him, it flutters down, a curtain of pink. His feet takes him forward, past the gates of his house, on to the shrine steps. By his feet, he notices a small jumble of petals, a warmer hue seeps through the cold slate. The orange of his shoes stark against the muted colours of the first rung he climbs. It kind of hurts to look at. He shifts his gaze skywards, the soft blue backdrops a patchwork of cherry blossoms and peaks of caramel branches.

The upwards climb seemingly endless, he drags his feet. Heavy movements, a dull thump against stone steps.

He doesn't even spare Haruka's front door a glance. The black of his shadow dissolves as he moves, along the dirt walkway, and opens the back door.

"I'm sorry for intruding."

Scant glimmers of light filters into the dark hallway as Makoto steps in. The familiar room feels alien. A disconnect. Detached, as if the world had shifted in its axis and he was left behind. He tries not to think about it, nausea threatening to snake up his stomach and constrict at his throat.

The floor creaks under his weight, every sound ringing in his ear. He feels more out of place, the further he walks in. He sees everything in its right place, each scratch of wood, each speck of aged shoji paper ― everything is the same but it feels _wrong_ somehow. _He_ feels wrong.

Face to face with the wooden door of Haruka's bathroom, he takes a deep breath. It's probably best for him, and for Haruka if he could smile like he always does. Maybe one day, if he does it often enough, it will feel _right._

It'll feel right, and he'll make them both believe that everything will be fine.

Makoto slides the bathroom door open.

"Good morning, Haru-chan!"

  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
